Past Midnight
by fiesa
Summary: Past midnight, the line between reality and dream blurs in a village hidden behind the leaves. OneShot, various characters.


**Past Midnight**

_Summary: Past midnight, the line between reality and dream blurs in a village hidden behind the leaves. OneShot._

_Warning: for strangeness. But I like it. I challenge you to read my intentions. _

_Set: Story-unrelated, random choice of characters. Features Naruto, Sakura, an absent Sasuke, Hinata, Kurenai and Asuma, Kakashi, Rin and Obito, Minato (twice), Kushina (twice, too), a younger version of the Sannin and an older version of Konohamaru (and Moegi) and a few others. Oh yeah, and Shikamaru and Ino. You didn't think I would write such a collection without them, did you?^^_

_Disclaimer: Standards apply. _

* * *

><p><em><em>**I.  
><strong>

It is past midnight and the thunder still rolls.

The wind rattles the window panes and rain pelts the roof, sounding like a dull, angry background for a ghost story but, in reality, droning out the heavy breathing of the woman on the bed. Hinata, five years old, sits there and counts the labored breaths that escape her mother's dry and chapped lips, and her heart slams against her ribs painfully every time the regular pattern dissolves. It becomes ragged, edged, sometimes seems to stop for seconds until it continues, a rasping sound that can barely be heard above the autumn storm's raging. The flickering lamp paints shadows across the walls, threatening and dangerous. The big room is as empty as her mother's eyes every time she opens them, when she stares past Hinata without really seeing her.

In theory, Hinata shouldn't even be here.

Yet something compelled her to sneak into her mother's sickroom this night, a deep, desperate urge born from loneliness and fear. Many days ago, many months, even years, when everything was fine, Hinata used to crawl under her mother's blankets on stormy nights, clinging to a warm body and warm cloth, listening to soft breathing. Feeling her chest heaving and falling regularly, bathing in a scent of sweet and welcome, she would fall asleep. But tonight she cannot. She sits on the edge of the bed, her legs drawn up to her knees, leaning against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself. In her little hand, her mother's hand feels dry and bony. And cold. Tonight Hinata does not dare to close her eyes because something tells her it will be the last time she will see her mother alive. The wind howls through the chimney and the windows shake and she wonders distantly whether there are people who cannot claim to have safe walls and a roof between themselves and those raging elements. Her mother draws in air and stops breathing and Hinata forgets everything else and starts counting, desperately, fervently, silently praying there will be another breath to follow, another hour her mother stays with her. She clings to a lifeless hand for her dear life, staring into a face gaunt and worn, listening to a stuttering pulse until her mother's chest heaves one long breath and falls again and her virgil continues from the beginning.

Later, when Hinata is old enough to learn about such things, she will learn most people die in the early hours of the day.

Past midnight and long before dawn. Die of loneliness, of darkness and hopelessness, of abandonment and hate and sadness and fear and of so many other things. Later, when she is old enough to understand, she will know what compelled her to leave her room in her white night-dress and without her shoes to search for her mother, for comfort and warmth and love. Later, when she is old enough to accept death as a part of life, she will accept her mother's early death meant she did not have to suffer more than she already had. Hinata will understand why her father never entered her mother's room and why Hanabi is so reserved towards her. But that night, during thunder and rain and endless hours, Hinata kneels next to her mother's bed and counts her heartbeats, clinging to the thin hand that had once held so much strength and now doesn't even move.

Her mother dies around three in the morning and Hinata curls up next to her and cries herself to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>II. <strong>

It is past midnight and the stars are bright.

Kakashi feels the stone he is sitting on, still warm from daylight and summer sun, and the roughness of bark in his back. Sounds of the night surround him: an owl on its hunt, its prey rustling in the shrubbery. A gust of wind in the trees all around him. A distant sound of noise, coming from the village he passed just a few hours ago. And above all, the stars are sparkling, bright and beautiful and incredibly far away.

"_The summer triangle is over there_", he hears Obito, a barely concealed whisper of delight. "_I didn't know it was visible from Tea, too!"_

"_You mean those bright ones over there?" _Rin sounds barely awake while trying to hold up a polite air of interest. Kakashi knows she is tired. They all had a long day and the little time they spend in places relatively safe like this one have become rare. They ought to be sleeping; safe while Sensei guards their camp and the only people in a four-mile-radius are they themselves and no one else.

"_Yeah! And Orion is there, too, do you see his belt? And, beneath it, his…"_

"_Obito!"_

Now Rin is awake, too, her voice a mixture of embarrassment, anger and amusement.

"_What?"_ Obito defends himself. "_It does look like it, doesn't it? Kakashi, what do you say?"_

Kakashi has been watching the stars for hours now, so he knows what Obito means and although he secretly agrees the bundle underneath the Hunter's belt looks suspiciously like _it_ he does not deem it wise to say so loudly. He grunts non-committal and strains his eyes to see more of them, more of the beauty of a night sky.

"_All those little lights,"_ Rin whispers softly and even Obito, who has even less sense of timing and tact than Kakashi has (or, at least, so it seems sometimes), does not say anything.

"_...One for each human being on earth…"_

Nobody says anything until Rin turns to them to glare at them in the darkness, her green, cat-like eyes daring them to make fun of her. But because they are on-and-off-and-actually-best-friends-even-if-they-don't-say-so Kakashi and Obito agree to agree on the fact that she is right, once again, and that they like her images even if they themselves never would say so loudly.

"_So far away," _Obito mutters and Kakashi thinks _So bright so bright_ and _I'll remember this forever_ but he cannot know this is one of the last times they go on a mission that does not involve wartime orders and state of emergencies.

_So bright so far away just like the two of you _

The soft scent of fresh hay is heavy and calming and even though their beds are prickly he cannot imagine anything better than camping out in an old hay barn. Minato-Sensei leans in from the roof, calling down a joke and a reminder to get some sleep. His face is a dark silhouette against the even darker sky, his shock of blond hair reflecting what little light the moon shares. But his smile is visible in Kakashi's mind. He falls asleep to Obito's steady snoring and Rin's light breathing, knowing Minato-Sensei is keeping them safe.

Kakashi is seventeen years old. The ground is cold underneath him and the tree behind him starts getting uncomfortable. He wakes up from his dream and Minato-Sensei and Rin and Obito are all dead.

But he can still hear their voices and see their smiles and feel their closeness.

* * *

><p><strong>III.<br>**

It is past midnight and she knows this should never happen.

But Jiraiya's hands on her bare arms make her skin tingle and his breath next to her ear is hot and full of promises. He barely touches her – even his hands only move down her arms like the ghost of the touch she yearns for – and her every instinct pleads for him to decrease the distance between them.

At the same time, everything in her screams to stop.

Jiraiya is her team-mate, her best friend and partner. She has known him for years, since they were selected for the same Genin Team, and even now – years later, years she never counted although she knows exactly how many have passed (_eight years five months nineteen days) – _there is no one she trusts more than him, even though he drives her crazy again and again. And however much she tries, she cannot deny the growing emotions she feels, the thoughts which drown her when she looks at him. She sees his lazy smile and his honest, vulnerable expression when he talks about bringing peace to the world, his determination when it comes to fighting for what they are (_they will regret having brought war to the Country of Fire if we burn they will burn too)_ and what will be, his silence after a battle, his trust in their teacher and future Hokage. And, most of all, she sees (_loves_) his tender smile when he thinks nobody notices him looking at her. Jiraiya is a no-good, damn idiot, but he is _her_ idiot and that is everything that counts.

But even though he whispers sweet nothings into her ear and promises her the world she cannot forget about it. Not even his arms are strong enough to shield her: from a reality in which there are more people than the two of them, in which they have to be what she never asked to be. _Sannin_. Her title is her curse, forever binding her to Orochimaru and Sarutobi and to Jiraiya, too, while at the same time forcing her and Jiraiya apart. She cannot – _they_ cannot – do this to their third team-mate, to their teacher.

"No," she whispers and Jiraiya draws back, a question in his eyes she can barely see in the darkness. She leans back, against the wall, away from him while wanting to do the opposite. She tries to strengthen her voice, but out comes only a whisper. "No, Jiraiya. We_ can't_."

The painful silence with which he answers hurts her even more than a hit would have. He looks away, still so close she can feel his chest rise and fall, and when he finally looks back at her the hurt is by no means gone. But he smiles. A small, painful smile that tells her he _knows_ and, even more, _understands. _And she loves him so much it hurts. They both know what they are giving up for the sake of Orochimaru and Sarutobi and for Hidden Leaf and while her heart cries, her brain knows it is the only thing to do.

She kisses Jiraiya one last time.

Their lips meet desperately, demandingly, they don't need air don't need a home don't need other people. Tsunade feels her knees go weak, feels herself sink into the kiss. Her hands clutch at Jiraiya's hair, move down to his sharp shoulder blades, try to fold him against her. Willing him to sink into her body and to become one with her. But Jiraiya, Jiraiya who knows what she is thinking, Jiraiya who knows where she is whenever she disappears, Jiraiya who is dutiful and loyal and responsible – Jiraiya carefully pries her hands away and takes a step back. His hands ghost over her face one last time, his smile makes her heart flutter, and then he turns around and disappears in the darkness surrounding them.

Orochimaru comes to look for them one hour later. Jiraiya grins and Tsunade bites out her usual, nasty retorts and never felt older than now with her nineteen years.

* * *

><p><strong>IV.<br>**

It is past midnight and the little lamp barely lights the room.

Konohamaru sighs as he takes off his glasses and puts away the mission reports. He has finished what he wanted to finish and even though the moon outside is full and bright he does not feel tired. Exhausted, yes, but not tired.

Though his eyes hurt a bit.

A soft knock on the door alerts him to the presence of Moegi. His former team-mate enters, brisk and confident, and her sight makes him smile like every time. She has grown so much from being the little girl he knew and made cry so often. Secretly, he thinks it has something to do with Sakura having been her teacher, but he would rather not say this out loud in case one of them might hear it. Naruto would laugh if he knew how much trouble Konohamaru gets himself into, even three years after accepting the position of the Seventh Hokage. Iruka-Sensei, old and worn and still so loyal, keeps track of his meetings and his calendar. Ebisu-Sensei, who died a few years ago, still appears in front of his minds' eye often enough, his temple vein twitching at the sight of whatever Konohamaru has done wrong again. And Naruto… Naruto is dead. Naruto sacrificed himself for the village he loved so much and though the pain is receding slowly, the appointed Hokage still longs for his friend's advice and humor, especially on stressful days.

"Moegi," he greets his friend and smiles. "What makes you come see me that late?"

Moegi shushes him with a hand while placing the other one on her lips. Then her hand finds the light switch, turning it off with a soft _click_. Darkness falls over the office immediately and Konohamaru blinks to get his eyes used to the dim night. When he looks up again, Moegi has crossed the room and takes his arm, her warm hand closing around his elbow softly and tugging him on.

"Come," she whispers.

Outside the window, Hidden Leaf is alight with the light of the full moon. Shadows change the view he is used to; distort the reality he sees every day from his huge office windows. Konoha looks foreign, like a strange yet beautiful woman, all sharp angles and edged features and soft curves.

"What…" Konohamaru whispers, propelled along by Moegi's secretive behavior. His childhood friend smiles and touches her lips again with her finger.

"_Look."_

Konohamaru looks.

And then, suddenly, he sees it: first one single one, then more. Slowly, gradually increasing in numbers, moving, single lights multiplying and grouping together until there is a steady stream of light moving along the streets of Konoha. Konohamaru holds his breath, taken aback by this spectacle he has seen so often and yet deems beautiful every time anew. Dark shadows move through Hidden Leaf's nightly street, men and women, young and old, and everyone holds a softly flickering candle. From his view in his office, Konohamaru cannot hear a sound of the slow procession in front of his window. His heart clenches anyway, marveling at the beauty and the wonder of this silent parade.

He watches what feels like hours. Then, finally, when the last lights disappear between dark shadows and edged houses, he turns, suddenly aware of Moegi's presence behind him. A tear runs down her pretty face. He wipes it away carefully and receives a smile in return.

They don't need words.

* * *

><p><strong>V.<br>**

It is past midnight and the door opens slowly.

Naruto divides up the night into many little intervals. Every time he wakes, he sees the moon in front of the window, every night, the street beyond the glass is alight with the yellow hue of the street lamp in front of his tiny apartment he lives in. The rooms are bare, impersonal, white walls stare back at him whenever he stares. His possessions he can count on one hand: a few kitchen utensils, rarely used, a few old and worn textbooks Iruka-Sensei gave him as a gift. A few clothes in his cabinet, two pairs of shoes placed neatly beside the door, and, last but not least, a small, pitiful plant on the window sill he picked up somewhere someday and nursed back to health. His shinobi gear is stacked carefully in the only drawer there is in the dim corridor, clean and meticulously kept. The emptiness of the place makes him shudder sometimes. On other times it is the only thing that keeps him sane: it is the only place he is completely in control of.

Every night is a puzzle made up of many little pieces.

Naruto knows them all as well as he knows his own name. At ten past nine, shortly after he has gone to bed, old Genga returns home from work. His steps are heavy and slow, speak of age and years of exhaustion. He reaches the second floor – the one on which Naruto's apartment is, too – and pauses again in front of his door. The keys rattle as he pulls them out of his pocket, then sound in his lock. The door opens with a creak and closes again, slowly and painfully, and silence falls again. The apartment house might be old, but at least the walls are sound-proof. Sinja-San, the young nurse who works in the hospital, often takes the night shifts. She leaves at ten thirty, her low heels clicking past Naruto's door rhythmically. Sometimes she pauses to check whether she hasn't forgotten anything, especially her key. Then she continues on and down the stairs, out of earshot. Those are the lesser disturbances during the night. On other nights, the three young men above him celebrate orgies – Naruto doesn't know what that means, but he heard neighbors talking about them – and whatever they do, it is _loud._ They laugh and stamp and clap and the noise drifts through the ceiling, into Naruto's bedroom and into his sleep. Every time it happens he wakes, listening to the noise and the uproar and tries to imagine what is happening above him. Sometimes, on good nights, he falls asleep despite the noise, exhausted and tired and far too lonely to actually stay awake and face reality. On other nights he lies awake and wonders.

No.

Actually, he waits.

Because, sometimes, he hears the door open. Then he closes his eyes and lies stock-still and holds his breath. If he doesn't move – doesn't think, doesn't breathe – he can hear the sound of the bedroom door opening slowly, as well. Light falls through the crack, tinges the world behind his eye-lids golden and red. Softly, slowly, with the steps of a trained shinobi, someone enters the room. The person is accompanied by a soft scent of apple and cinnamon, or, at least, by what Naruto believes smells like cinnamon. A soft rustling of clothes can be heard and he imagines red and golden hair (_just the color of the world behind his lids) _and emerald green eyes and warm, tender hands. The steps approach his bed, slowly, softly, but without hesitation. To whomever those steps might belong; he knows exactly where he can step and where he wants to go. Every time Naruto hears those steps his heart slams painfully against his ribs and he presses his eyes closed tightly, willing himself to lay unmoving. The steps come nearer, so close he can almost sense the warmth radiating off pale, porcelain skin. And if he lays really, really still, he can feel a hand touch his cheek, feels the dream of a kiss ghost over his forehead. Naruto squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath and feels like crying, screaming and like holding on to the woman who haunts his waking dreams. He wants to open his eyes but knows he won't see anything, just the shadows of the furniture in his bare room. The woman he doesn't even know from pictures, just from images in his head, always visits him at night. Every night at the same time, every night for the same time, and if Naruto knew the fairy tale of the two siblings he would maybe see parallels. But he does not. He just knows someone visits him at night, touches his cheek and kisses his forehead and only then he falls asleep, strangely soothed. One time – he feels tired to the bone and coughs wrack his body and Iruka-Sensei sends him home early – she even remains for the night, and her comforting hand cools his heated face. Sometimes he wakes up from nightmares and can feel her lingering presence, even if she isn't there anymore. Maybe – he tries not to think about it too often – it is his mother. Maybe it is just another kind of ghost, visiting him nightly.

Whether it is born from a desire deep within him or from his own imagination, Naruto cannot say. In his dark, small, bare apartment, he waits for the steps of a ghost that visits him every night.

* * *

><p><strong>VI.<strong>

It is past midnight and she feels like she has lost.

Sakura would never have thought she would be able to give up her dreams. But here she is, small and tired and hollow and alone, and she is willing to do anything, _anything_, if only Naruto stops following Sasuke like that.

She once thought she loved Sasuke, and maybe she still does. She cannot be sure since she never loved anyone the way she loved him. But, on the other hand, loving someone meant giving up someone, didn't it? It was the one proof she had needed to see that she didn't love Sasuke the way Naruto loved him. Naruto had set Sasuke free long ago. He had just continued on because of his stupid promise to _her_ – to Sakura, who hadn't been able to let go of her childhood fantasies. Naruto had long understood what she still didn't want to understand. He was good at stuff like that.

Naruto was _good_ at many things.

Naruto was good at _love_. He cared for the people he loved, fought for them, followed them and helped them. One just needed to look at Gaara to see it, or at Hinata, or at Konohamaru. Even Tsunade-Sama had a soft spot for him, and she was the last one Sakura suspected of being soft-hearted. And all those villagers who had named him hero to Hidden Leaf couldn't all be wrong, could they? Something he had done – something Naruto had made, thought or said – had made them believe he would always be there, would always fight to save them and protect them. The little rock-head idiot had actually grown enough to make people believe in him, and that was what made Sakura really, really proud.

Naruto's dream was to protect Konoha.

Sakura's dream was nothing like that. In her dream, she was the protagonist, she had had the main role. She only thought of herself, wished for her own happiness, and had never spared a thought for others. Even though there had been so many people in her life: Ino, for example, her first friend. Or Naruto, who cared for her more than she had ever cared for him. Her parents were there, and Kakashi-Sensei, and Tsunade-Sama. Hinata had wanted to be her friend, Naruto had wanted to go out with her (even if, as she suspected, he hadn't understood what it meant at the time he had last asked her) and so many other people had been there. Had simply been _there_, but she had never noticed them. Seeing clearly for the first time in a long, long time, Sakura feels like she has lost. The moonless night outside is pitch-black, and Naruto's silhouette is barely visible next to her. But she can feel his warmth. And she feels like she has lost, and to _Naruto_, of all. He is so much better than her, in many things: in stuff like love, and reliance, and strength.

And Sakura is competitive.

"If you don't stop this," she says and desperately hopes she is doing the right thing, "I promise I'll tie you to the bed and make you live on water and bread until you get back to your senses. I really will, I swear."

Dark eyes look at her. He is exhausted, his cheeks are hollow and his eyes ringed with dark shadows. His work for ANBU is keeping him away from Konoha far too long. Sakura cannot even remember when she had seen him the last time.

He looks at her and she only now notices the humor that always was there in his eyes, even when hidden deep under other things, is gone. Completely. His eyes are tired and sad and lonely and full of self-loathing and she does not think she can stand it much longer. "So you finally confess you have been lying the last time."

The veiled accusation hurts as she remembers her words, her smile, as she last promised she had forgotten Sasuke and now was in love with him.

"I really will," she repeats, and a hint of desperation undermines her voice. "I will do anything if you just stop. Naruto, it's killing you, everyone can see it. It's the fifth time you come home half-dead. Hadn't the main contingent of ANBU found you and Ino in time, you _would_ be dead by now. You both would be dead."

Her voice cracks on the last sentence because even imagining a world without them is torture.

"But you love him, Sakura," Naruto said. "And I do, too. How can I give up on him when I promised you to bring him back?"

"Sasuke is dead." Sakura put all the finality she could muster into her voice. "And we both know that," she continued as Naruto tried to object. "He's far too far gone to be Sasuke, Naruto, and you know he won't ever come back. Let him be. You have to be strong for Hidden Leaf, you promised to protect it. _Please, _Naruto." And, seeing his doubts, she played her last trump: "Naruto, we both love him enough to let him go."

He stayed silent for a long, long time. Finally, he asked: "And what made you finally decide twelve years later?"

Sakura knew she had won, so she smiled at him. It wasn't a happy smile, and she wasn't feeling victorious, either. She still felt like she had lost to Naruto, but that didn't matter. Because life was a game and they were winners and losers, depending on their decisions and their actions, and every loss would also be a gain. Giving up meant gaining. Loving meant gaining, and losing, too. She loved Naruto, and she loved Sasuke. But Sasuke was gone and Naruto was here. She took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

"Thanks," she whispered. Naruto said nothing, but she knew his answer.

* * *

><p><strong>VII.<br>**

It is past midnight and the snow falls softly.

A white blanket covers the streets and the houses, and the soft light of the candles and the lamp in the corner turn their small living-room into a maze of shadows and light. Kurenai loves it that way. The little apartment they live in seems more real, softer and warmer, when she turns off the main light. The air is dry and warm and filled with the scent of sweets and pine needles and vanilla. Outside, silvery icicles hang from the roofs and snow coats the trees. It shines silvery and bright in the light of the moon.

Kurenai does not want to be anywhere else than here.

White flakes fall from heavens without a sound. The world seems softer when white like this, somehow the edges seem to have been taken out. The street is a carpet of white. If people have walked through the whiteness before their foot prints are long lost again. The next house right on the other side of the street seems like miles away, so white and so far away. In darkness, the colors are dimmed, but snow makes them stand out again. The red door of the house a few numbers down the roar shimmers softly in the warm, yellow light of the street lamp opposite of the house.

There is beauty in the night, and Kurenai has learnt to appreciate it.

She gets up after some time, nevertheless, and wanders out of the living-room and into the small corridor. Her feet don't make any noises on the soft, carpeted floor as she passes through. She moves like a genjutsu, Asuma once told her, so fast and so silent one got the impression she was just a dream image. There and gone again. Kurenai likes the image, though it reminds her of what sacrifices she made with the use of her genjutsu. But there is no going back. Not ever.

In Kira's room, the night lamp in form of an elephant burns steadily.

For a long while Kurenai just stands there. She listens: to the whispers of the curtains, the sounds of the old wooden cabinet in the right corner, the rustling of the pine trees outside that can barely be heard through the thick glass. The world outside seems like a song in a foreign language, tender and melancholic and full of love. She listens to her daughter's soft, regular breathing, a sound that is unique in the whole world. She is beautiful, Kurenai thinks, and pride and love make her heart swell like every time. The soft, brown curls are messy and fall into the girl's face like a veil. The huge, brown eyes are closed peacefully, the little fists cramped at either side of her head. Five years have not dulled the wonder she feels when she looks at the child: this is hers, and it is all in herself one perfect wonder. A human being, so tiny, so lost and yet so strong. So beautiful. Kira shifts and Kurenai pulls up her blanket carefully. The girl sighs in her dream and turns her head from one side to the other. She must be dreaming, but it is a good dream. A tiny smile – the one that still makes all her defenses drop when she see it – tugs at the corners of her lips.

"You're perfect," Kurenai whispers and pushes a few strands of hair out of her daughter's face. Kira mutters something and continues to sleep blissfully. Sometimes it's hard – lying awake and wondering about whether she is able to be a good mother. But in between rants and surprises and weekends out and too much tiredness to stay awake any longer and burnt toast and too-black coffee once a year the company of her daughter is more precious to her than anything else. She does not like going there. But without Kira, Kurenai isn't sure she would have made it until here.

Heavy steps resound behind her.

Funny to think even years as a shinobi and the membership of an elite guard should enable him of a soundless approach. But Asuma never hides his entry except when he does not know the people.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Warm, strong arms wrap around her middle and pull her close to a strong, tall body, and Kurenai lets herself fall backward with a smile.

"How was the shift?"

"Not too busy," Asuma tells her while turning her head around and kissing her on the corner of her lips. "Nothing worth mentioning."

Per definition, night shifts are the thing most boring when you work for a shinobi village and government.

"How was _your_ day?"

"It was okay."

Pressing further back into his warm embrace, Kurenai smiles.

"And it just got even better."

Outside the window, the world turns sleeps underneath its snowy blanket.

* * *

><p><strong>VIII. <strong>

It is past midnight and the forest is awake.

It never is completely silent here, she remembers. The whispering voices of the wind in the trees, the soft rustling in the leaves, the rushing sound of the little trickle of water that merges into Konoha river further downstream. A hunting owl passes over, almost invisible, but right the second it passes over Ino's head the clouds that have covered the moon shift and the dark, flitting shadow is clearly visible on the forest's ground. A mouse runs for her dear life. The owl hoots angrily and widens its circle again.

It never is completely silent. And yet, the noises she hears don't belong here at all.

There is some kind of harsh rustling she hears, something like a mixture of a bad cough and harsh breathing. It is accompanied by a rushing sound like a river, which is strange because there is no river here. Ino knows these woods. She has spent days of her childhood in here, playing, pretending, exploring, and though there are little rivulets, a lake and even a well, there is no river. The forest she is in belongs to the Nara land. The family keeps its flocks of deer here, the wild, the pretty ones. Ino loves those animals for their shyness and yet strength. There are vast meadows in the forest, little clearings and even a few hills.

But no rivers.

It takes some time until she understands the rushing is her blood in her ears, and the coughing sound is her own breath.

_This is bad._

Focusing on herself, she tries to take inventory. She tastes iron on her lips, feels warmth on her face that turns cold quickly. Her body is numb from her hips downwards, something that makes her panic slightly. _I can't feel my legs._ She calms herself forcefully and tries to focus. Moving her right arm makes her entire body explode in pain and she lies still for an endless number of seconds, Counting her breath and listening to the sound of the wind. _What happened?_ Images come back slowly and reluctantly, and every single one of them hurts. Then, a name flashes through her mind, accompanied with a shock of blond hair and eyes as blue as her own.

_Naruto!_

He has to be here, somewhere! Ice running through her veins suddenly she holds her breath, wills the pounding of her head to stop so she can strain her ears. She only hears the forests' breathing. _Naruto!_ Her mind screams for her partner. He has to be here, somewhere, he must be hurt, as well, he has to be alive because bringing his dead body back to Konoha – _to Sakura – _is more than she can handle. She tries to call his name but coughs up blood instead and her throat feels like dry, ancient parchment. Maybe, if she can sit up… Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she tries to move. Every movement explodes in bright, flame-red, fiery pain. Ino wills herself upward until she can lift her head. Her eyes strain to look through the darkness: nothing. Fear screams inside her, a little child left alone in the forest, but she forces herself to think. If Naruto's not here, he has to be somewhere else. If he's somewhere else, he's either been taken prisoner or he left to get backup or he left to follow the bastards that attacked them from the shadows or he is somewhere else, dying, wounded like she is…

There is a tree close by.

Ino forces herself forward, inch by inch, and the pain is so bad she feels like passing out. _Wait. Idiot. You've learned the basics of healing jutsus._ Slowly, she focuses her chakra. It's almost depleted and she wants to keep some in case Naruto is here somewhere. Also, even the tiniest movement exhausts her to a limit she never experienced before – well, maybe when Anko-Sensei trained her until she broke down. Even with her slightly healed wounds movement is a torture but at least she can drag herself forward a few meters. She almost crashes into the next tree and closes her eyes. Her hands move feebly.

There is something around her wrist.

It takes some time until she realizes what it is: a headband. The metal of the plate is cool and scratched but she recognizes it: it's Naruto's. Relief wells up, so hot it brings tears to her eyes: her partner is alive. Where he went she does not know but he will be back for her. They have saved each other's lives often enough to depend on each other and Naruto would leave Ino as little as she would leave him.

_It's okay._

It hurts, but Ino sings to herself in the not-silence of the forest. Her voice is husky and using her throat hurts and yet she continues on. Her lower body feels numb, her right arm hurts like hell and blood is congealing on her face. She does not care.

She waits for the dawn.

The silence of the living forest around her is barely interrupted when they make their appearance. Not much time has passed even though it feels like years to her. One ANBU lands next to her and immediately checks her for hidden seals or explosives, anything the enemy could have left for them. When his search comes up fruitless, he checks the immediate vicinity. Two other ANBU, Ino knows, are running search patterns around the perimeter right now. It's protocol. She could tell them they didn't need to bother, their attackers are long gone – but Ino's as much ANBU as Neji, Ten and Kakashi-san are and she knows the rules.

Only then, the medic arrives on the scene.

Not Sakura. Thank God. Hot chakra and cold hands and a face meld into each other as she is treated, and even though the feeling in her legs does not return the pain of her crushed chest and her broken arm fades into the background. "She'll be okay," the medic nin says, harshly but not without feeling. "She's well enough to be brought back to Konoha for further treatment. We should be able to move her." Since he's not talking to her, Ino tries to evaluate who it is he's talking to.

_Oh. Damn._

Brown eyes suddenly fill her field of vision completely. Shikamaru looks at her without a word, an expression of utter pain on his face. Ino tries to smile – she's alive, after all, isn't it that what counts? – and something in his eyes shifts although his face doesn't change at all. She tries to tell him what happened – "Shikamaru-San, I know you and Tsunade-hime need details, but she's too weak for questioning now" – but the only words she seems to be able to utter are nonsensical ones, apologies and names and somehow, in the middle of it all, she manages to smile. _Hey, I'm alive. _Shikamaru is, too. Suddenly it doesn't matter that she is beat and cut and bruised and broken and that a tiny voice in the back of her mind screams that maybe, maybe the fact that she can't feel her legs is worse than she might have anticipated. Shikamaru is alive. For that simple, banal reason, she can't stop smiling.

The medic is speaking, softly and rapidly, and a few seconds later he is gone.

Shikamaru regards her again, his eyes filling her entire field of vision. He's aged, she thinks. He is so much older than the little boy she used to watch while playing in the forests of his clan. So much older than the teen she trained with. So much older than the man she knew last. Somehow this scene seems to have taken something from him and she cannot understand why. She does not want to accept, either. Shikamaru is supposed to be fine. The world can break apart, she can die, but Shikamaru will be fine. _Has_ to be fine, and…

He wraps his arms around her, not too gently, and it hurts and Ino whimpers in pain as he lifts her from her half-lying, half-sitting position against the tree. Red flames fill her field of vision again. It hurts so much she feels tears in her eyes but Shikamaru makes no attempt to carry her back home. Instead, he cradles her in his arms, holds her tight, and she feels his frantic heart-beat where her head comes to lie on his shoulder. He holds her so tight she gasps in pain but he does not seem to notice. His whole body is shaking.

"Shikamaru," she manages to gasp, and he lessens his grip on her ever so slightly. The pain subsides only slowly. His body is warm, Ino thinks, and suddenly notices how much she is freezing. Her teeth are clattering together. Her whole body is shaking.

"Shikamaru," she whispers again and buries her head in his shoulder. Lifting her left arm is a torture, but she gets to it, eventually. He smells like sweat and forest and books and deer and Asuma-sensei's cigarettes.

Shikamaru holds her until she falls asleep, soothed by his heart-beat and his warmth. Only then, he carries her back to Hidden Leaf.

* * *

><p><strong>IX.<strong>

It is past midnight and she is dreaming.

The night isn't black and dark. Hasn't been since the war started. The medics' tents are filled with light, white and bright light, light that makes injured seem even more pale and that mercilessly shows every ugly scar, every huge injury, every tell-tale evidence that a war is going on on the other side of the thin tent's walls.

"Don't leave," Kushina whispers, her voice hoarse with pain and exhaustion. Her hand has stretched out to grab hold of his vest and Minato freezes in the middle of movement. He turns around again to regard the woman – _girl – _in front of him: lying in the white, thin hospital bed she seems translucent, too pale for a living human being. Only her hair is crimson, blood-red like the sunset, and the contrast shocks him into silence.

What happened? Actually, he isn't sure, because a war is a war and he can't have his eyes everywhere, cannot protect every single shinobi who goes out to fight in it. And Kushina, in addition, is a special case because she is the kyuubi's host. From what he gathers from her ANBU squad, from fellow soldiers and civilians, is that she fought valiantly until she saw some Rock-nin attacking innocent bystanders. Civilians. Children. One woman testified they had been laughing as they raped a little girl and Kushina had simply _snapped._ The Rock-nin had been dead within seconds but the whole thing had been a carefully placed trap for Konoha's bijuu and they had gotten to her. And had gotten her badly. Reinforcements arrived, almost too late, and had brought her here. Minato had passed by, accidentally, because he was in so many places in so short time. And she had reached out for him but it hadn't been him she had wanted to reach out to.

"Don't leave," she whispers again and a tear runs down her bruised, white face. "Mother, Father, please."

She is dreaming and, he supposes, her dream will turn into a nightmare soon. Her parents are dead, her family is far away and her last link to Uzushio-Gakure is dead as well. She is alone in the world, in a foreign village, without friends or family, and she is fighting in a war that's definitely not hers. And yet, here she is, and Minato can't help but wonder whether she decided to fight because she felt obliged to or because she didn't value her own life much. He has seen too many shinobi break under the pressure of responsibility and he feels a slight twinge of guilt at the thought that Kushina might break, as well. She always seemed strong to him, stubborn and obnoxious, but he has to confess that he doesn't know her well except for what everyone knows about her. And that isn't much. People tend to believe what they see, so he heard many rumors and complaints about Kushina's cheekiness. But he himself had less than nothing to do with her, her being younger than him and far out of his league. It might sound unfair, but he was – as little as he liked it – part of Konoha's elite while she was a common soldier, even if she hosted the kyuubi.

She looked far younger now than she probably was, pale and bloody and bruised, and he felt a twinge of pity for her. She was a child, really, caught in a war of adults for the sole reason that she had been compatible with the kyuubi and therefore had been chosen to host it. She had fought like a madwoman, they had told her, and he believed it: she was strong, in her own way, and relentless, and the kyuubi's power probably reinforced her own determination. But it also busted her anger and hate and sadness, which was a dangerous combination. The Sandaime had told him Kushina probably would need an anchor if she wanted to survive her teenage years, someone who linked her to earth and kept her sane. But he couldn't wonder who it would be right now. There was a war going on outside the medics' tent, a war he had to help to win or other people would end up the same as her. Another twinge of guilt ran through him as he carefully disentangled his vest from her weak hand. Kushina was still dreaming, he saw it in the way her eyes moved behind her lids and her fists clenched and unclenched. Minato stepped away from her bed.

As he left the tent, he heard her voice again.

"It's okay," she whispered. "You have to go."


End file.
